The glow inside Nesta was still expanding. He really was truly compelling, in all senses of the word. He certainly didn’t need hypnotism to win you over. What a thought! Without effort she had been lured there alone, now just one lovely spiral staircase away from his bedroom. She had been relaxed with alcohol and by his wonderful manner. She had laughed with him and been told she was fine company. She had picked up on his very slight hint that he might have used dating agencies in the past, so perhaps was not quite as averse to finding love as he claimed. And for her it would have to mean something, but he would know that. There would have to be some proper emotion there. So he’d even managed to show her his etchings - or his mural in this case - just to display his depths. In his subtle way he had always let her know how attracted he was to her, all done with the fewest words and actions, but glaringly obvious nonetheless. His seduction was so irresistible because it was barely noticeable.
Along with his artistic flair, the spirituality and vision was also shown in his words. He sounded so intelligent and informed whenever he spoke. He didn’t ‘um’ and ‘ah’ his way through things, he didn’t rant or preach. He just spoke and everything was worth listening to. He might come across as a little reserved but still he had that way of imparting an urge to be wild and free, to be as daring as he obviously was when out of this street and its constraints. Nesta wished she had some tales to share to put her on an equal footing, to show she didn’t lead such a sedentary life. She wished he could see that suddenly, quite against her supposed beliefs, she was right there for the taking.
It was disconcerting how overwhelming the urge to run over and leap upon him had become. It was not a feeling she had come close to in all her married life. She didn’t even feel any guilt from it as she thought she would - but then what had he just said about never really knowing oneself? He was probably right about another thing too: that she shouldn’t need to know more about him, that he was enough to know just as he was. Why pry into a past he wanted to forget when he claimed it would teach you no more about him?
But she wanted to absolve him of his confessed misdeeds, because she knew he was too good a man to bear such a burden unfairly. Share his past and she could share more of him, as if that knowledge might somehow make him more her possession. She wanted to have known him for longer than just now, to have been at his side through everything. She so wished that more of his memories included her, that she understood how he came to this moment, that only she could stick up for him and shed true light upon his character. He might claim that all our yesterdays were best left hidden but there was no way on earth this man was capable of wilfully bad actions, and she told him so.
‘I still think evil can only be perpetrated by those naturally, inherently evil,’ she said.
‘Then you should know that in my time I have done some of the very worst things.’
This unloaded a new flurry of butterflies within her stomach. It wasn’t really what she wanted to hear. She wanted to dismiss such image-shattering talk, however much she needed to know the truth. The take-me moment was in danger of passing. She wanted the solemn expression on his face transformed back to the smiling, at-any-minute-I-might-choose-to-devour-you one he so often sported when they spoke together. She wanted to reveal his true nature but only because she thought that person too rugged and passionate to care whether or not she was married, too aware not to spot the lack of conviction behind any barely-whispered protestations, to run right over them. She wanted the Real Him because she believed that man was capable of forgetting the moral decency she should be treated with in favour of using her as he wished. She couldn’t possibly offer herself to him, so somehow he would have to realise that he was free to act on instinct and take what he wanted.
‘I do not believe, whatever you do or have done, that anyone could think of you as bad,’ she said, hoping that he would take the deeply buried hint.
‘You really think?’ he said, the expressive not changing. ‘Then let me tell you. I have seen conflict all around the world, from Europe to the Middle East to Africa. Each conflict exposed me to its own unique evil. In ’95 I was sent to Bosnia, to towns where war-crimes were said to be on-going. One day I was searching a bombed-out block of flats when I heard someone coming up the stairs towards me. I hid and watched this guy with a gun come up into the room. He was doing a search, but not a very thorough one. He was more interested in smoking his cigarette. He probably wouldn’t have seen me at all. There was a good chance he would have just gone on his merry way without ever knowing I was there. Still I killed him. I took careful aim, pulled the trigger, and shot him right through the heart, just like that. I didn’t know anything about him, about where he came from, what his life was like before all the troubles, whether I had robbed a family of a husband and a father. All I knew about him was that he was carrying an AK47 and fought for the other side. Even if my safety was under threat I had no right to assume my life or my cause was any more valuable or just than his, yet I shot him, without any hesitation.’
‘But it was a war. It was your job.’
‘He was my first confirmed kill, the first time I properly saw the effect of my bullets. I saw the shock of the impact, the blood, the crumpling fall, his last breaths. Such an act should have shut me down. I did it with such detachment it should have sent the guilt and horror sweeping through me, paralysing me. I watched the life going out of his eyes and he was no older than I was, yet to really begin to live. It should have burned me - not just at that time but for all time. I should have been rendered inert. And yet, just a couple of minutes later, when his friend snuck up to see what was going on, I squeezed the trigger just as coolly as before and killed him too. And they weren’t the last. Before I had even left the army I had slain more people than Jack the Ripper - some, it might be argued, in a manner no less cold-blooded. So what does that make me? Do you still think I should be considered such a great guy?’
‘But you were in the army!’ Nesta cried, wanting to defend him, wanting him to know that his confession hadn’t shocked her anywhere near as much as she thought it would, nor rocked her view of him.
‘It was a profession I chose.’
‘So, have you killed or brought terror to anyone outside of this profession, or used your power against the innocent?’
‘No, I have not.’
‘Have you saved more lives than you have taken?’
‘Well, yes, I should think a great many more.’
‘Would you lay down your life for others?’
‘Without question.’
‘So, you behaved decently except under times of duress and always within the accepted rules of war? I don’t see how that makes you evil or even bad.’
‘I can’t tell that to the families of the men I have killed. I know the situations were extreme but I chose to put myself there. What I did was part of the evil, whatever the justification I thought I had. You cannot take the moral high ground when you are also holding a gun - that is the curse of man upon this world. If I could go back and change things I would, despite the friendships made, the camaraderie and the good that we did achieve. I do not want to be known as that person, even though at the time I was proud of my actions. My hope is that I am judged only on my present conduct. That is why I don’t speak much about myself and especially not about my past. It allows presumption and I don’t want to help create an impression that is almost certainly false.’
It seemed ages since that electric sweep his kiss had sent around her body. The urge to hold him remained strong, her feelings for him not even dented. She wanted to atone for forcing these memories out into the open. She thought for one moment she had the strength to take his hand and lead him up the stairs, but when it came to it her legs wouldn’t work. She had forced the emotion from him and now couldn’t act upon it. There was no way he could go from this back to carnal desire and so the moment had gone. She should have left
his past where it was, just like he’d told her. She wanted to scold herself but at the same time she wanted to give him a boot up the backside, to stop him from haunting himself with the past when he was clearly blameless. He needed to share himself with someone who saw him only as beautiful and gifted, capable of engrossing you and of taking your breath away, whatever the perceived faults of the past. He needed more than to fritter emotion away on pointless one night stands. He needed someone who valued him endlessly, and was capable of bringing out the man he wanted to be. Otherwise he would be wasted.
‘You need to find someone to love,’ she said. She hoped he didn’t think she meant her, even if she did.
‘I can’t. I’ve told you.’
It was ridiculous, this determination to live in the shadow of his wife’s death. It could only hurt him. Nesta wanted to shake him and show him there was another way, even though her head was nothing but a whirlwind of confused ideas, all of them way too dangerous to be aired. The frustration ravaged her, this teasing inability to act, his failure to just take what she couldn’t possibly put on offer for him.
‘You have to,’ she said, almost beseechingly. ‘If you are resolved to never love anyone again then what is the point of you?’
She hadn’t meant it to sound like that. He looked a little taken aback but then he smiled, as he always did, because he would never let anyone flounder for long.
‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure I will ever find the answer to that.’
She chugged the last of her wine and made her excuses to leave, despite him telling her to stay and have another drink. He was only being polite. She had messed up the whole afternoon and made a fool of herself. Worse, she didn’t feel a single iota of relief to have avoided his bed. Inside she was aching and empty from the disappointment. The cheek he had kissed was now crimson with her embarrassment and stress and frustration. She had found out things about him that he had surely only told her to warn her off, yet she wanted him more than ever. If she had just shut up and played along she might have been in his bed now, no doubt having the best time of her life. So much for demanding depth and a greater connection! He wanted her and she had pushed him off track with her stupid prying, and now she was nowhere and the unknown woman on the hidden canvas would doubtless be left to have the best of him. She hurried to the sanctuary of her home, not the first time she had been sent scurrying away from Number Seven. She left having completely forgotten to even mention the delicate problem of her cheating neighbours. More importantly, she left without knowing if she would ever have the chance to be alone with him again - a thought too crushing to contemplate.
And still she didn’t know why they had put him in prison for so long.
Showers Easing
Something was going to happen. Bethan saw the proof all around. It was in the atmosphere; an electrical charge. Even now, with the rain clouds gathering and her urging her youngest towards the safety of home, it became more palpable as she neared Temptation Close. She had sensed it for some time now, having had her receptiveness to such things return after weeks of being able to ignore them. For the whole of the winter she had basked in the joy of his compliment. It had woken her spirit. She had told herself he had meant her beauty was both internal and external. He saw her all, the first ever to do so.
It meant he did have powers beyond normal humans. When the time came he would value her enough not to consign her to darkness. The eternity she had longed for had become a distinct possibility. Now, the beauty of it was, she could wait for that transition to a new existence. She didn’t burn for it. It was a sumptuous notion to revel in the prospect of rather than to desperately cling to, to yearn for, to dread being a hollow figment of one’s imagination. Now she knew it was real. Just catching sight of him through her window brought the butterflies that told her he was something beyond the norm. The removal of the fangs at the Halloween party had just been a clever double bluff after all. He knew she would not betray his secret and so there was no need to rush things. This gave her more time - perhaps as long as she wanted - to spend with the children she loved.
Over the weeks things cleared and became uncomplicated and calm. Her head was not the usual maelstrom. She began to lose weight, and easily too. The chocolate and cakes that had been her go-to comfort blanket suddenly seemed a shameful necessity, a sickening indulgence. Where once she could barely stop herself eating a whole bar or box in one sitting, now it turned her stomach to even have them in the house. Morning exercise took the place of binge eating - not obsessive sweat-fests followed by nail-biting trips to the scales, just a daily routine gradually building up, to work the heart almost as much as a single sighting of him could do. She even discussed her workouts with Maria. And she discussed other things with other neighbours. Then suddenly she was being included, doing the coffee mornings, opening up, talking normally in groups like she had done back in her school days when she was somebody.
It seemed so preposterously easy but, then again, it was just conversation after all. It was simply sitting down with someone and taking your turn to add a comment or voice an opinion. No biggie. Nothing to explain her dread of such situations for so long. They even looked interested in her views. After the condescending smiles of gladness that she was able to quietly add an opinion, there followed barely disguised surprise at her proving to be at least as informed or enlightening as they were on certain subjects. Not the thicko they took her for, even if she had married one. After a while they even turned naturally to her, as if her contribution might count heavier than the rest.
She could make herself known now because if she was good enough for him, she was good enough for anyone. She could see it in their auras, this new found respect, even fondness towards her. Her resurgent confidence bred optimism and enthusiasm in the others too. She saw the clear orange hues, the hints of white. You cannot disguise what you think of someone if they can literally see your true colours. Normally, she didn’t dare view them for that very reason. However, the temptation proved too great. So buoyed was she by recent events she couldn’t help but sneak a peek to confirm her suspicions, and once she had, she looked ever more for proof of changing moods.
It might seem easy to dismiss the viewing of auras as spiritualist mumbo-jumbo. Bethan knew it only as fact: an ability possessed by all to a greater or lesser degree. Emotions of each individual are given off in different tell-tale colours, emanating from specific parts of the body where the chakras are sited. These were visible, if you knew how. She did. If you knew what the colours stood for - and the subtle variations of shade therein - you could interpret the moods, feelings, the hopes and fears, even the current state of health of the individual. It was not so much mind-reading as soul-reading.
It sounds like a gift, a way to be assured of someone else’s moods and thoughts on given situations if body language doesn’t help. However, for Bethan it had historically been a curse. With her it was something she barely needed to concentrate on, something she could see when viewing something or someone normally, not in that slightly out of focus, peripheral way that only works for most people. It was the negativity she witnessed that first helped make her so insular. The more she saw it, the more she withdrew. Worst of all, she saw the lecherous reds surrounding her husband swelling when he was in the company of other girls, and shrinking whenever he was with her. That blatant show of disfavour could suffocate anyone’s spirit. She learned to bury her ability. It was now no longer second nature. It was used only sparingly, almost like bouts of self-harm, to confirm ill-will or badness or betrayal in others.
It took a sustained effort to begin to re-use the ability in earnest, her inner protection system so aware of the damage it could bring. She had to wait until he had gone away for Christmas before she dared use it again, too scared to see if there would be a change to that shrunken, dark shroud around him when he looked at her now. For more than a month she steeled herself for his retu
rn, to view the tell-tale reaction when they were next face to face. Vampires see auras as second nature, so there would be no disguising her feelings for him.
In his absence she saw the mood change amongst all the girls. You could see the dark purples of loneliness, the brighter pinks of lovelorn hearts. They were missing him. Normally, colours change by the moment, as each new instance brings differing emotions, but the girls carried the same core colours whenever she looked at them, indicating deep-set sentiment, on-going feeling. On his return these colours diminished and changed to those of joy and wanting. Bethan couldn’t feel animosity; she knew how he inspired her just by simply being there. She knew he had her marked down for wonderful things.
You really had to see these colours well to be able to differentiate between the subtle changes of shade and interpret them, and she could. There were certain clear indications. Clear, bright colours were generally positive. Blurred or dull colours were negative. She couldn’t remember much of clarity around her husband ever. He was normally murky shades of brown and red: the colours of covetous greed and obsessive passions. She didn’t want to view him nowadays but she couldn’t help it. It was like touching the fence that the sign said was electrified, just to see if it was indeed true.
There were some good signs: his reds were clearing and expanding when she was near, reaching out towards her. It meant the weight loss was having an effect. Then she realised she didn’t care. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be beholden to someone so shallow and self-obsessed. Others were growing to like her. She was becoming attractive again, perhaps even as hard to overlook as she had once been. It was time for optimism, and this would propel her into a new sphere. Her husband would have to change to warrant the same place in her heart as he once commanded.
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